Until We Meet Again
by ThePreciousHeart
Summary: A post-movie conversation between Llewyn and Jean, regarding his plans for the future.


**AN: I wasn't originally going to write any more fic for this fandom, but I kept hearing the first two dialogue lines in my head, and this was borne from it.**

* * *

"Are you okay?"

Llewyn stared dully, waiting for the words to sink in and latch onto connotations before responding.

"…I have no idea how to answer that question."

Jean chuckled dryly, unsmiling. "The fact that you don't know how to answer tells me you're not okay."

"I…" For half a second Llewyn was inclined to agree, but instead he bristled. "What's it to you, Jean? You really _care_ about what- what I'm going through?"

"Of course I _care."_ Now Jean's words were dripping with well-worn contempt. "Aren't I your _friend?_ At least that's how you like to think of me."

Llewyn shrugged, his eyes straying from the drab apartment walls to the gap between the couch and the floor. He wondered idly what he'd find if he slid his hand into that space. Loose change? Nothing but dust?

"Thought you were still mad at me for… y'know. Possibly knockin' you up." He made sure to keep his voice quiet and level, afraid to tread on the minefield of Jean's anger.

Jean rolled her eyes. "I _would_ be if we were talking about it, but we _aren't._ As far as you or I or _anyone's_ concerned, it never happened."

There was nothing Llewyn could say to that, so he nodded instead. _Suits me just fine._ He'd kept away from Jean for a few days following her appointment with the doctor, and now that he was back for a visit she seemed none the worse for wear. If she chose to deal with the issue through silence and heavy denial, Llewyn considered the plan a success.

They were both different people now, he reflected, thanks to recent unshared experience. Jean had given up a child, and Llewyn the dream that had sustained him for longer than he could remember. Probably as long as he'd known what music was. Llewyn couldn't help but wonder if the sense of loss was any greater for Jean than it was for him. He suspected otherwise. It was funny how crushing the blow appeared in theory, only to find out when the time came that there was nothing to it. No big deal. The end of Llewyn's career left him as unmoved as Jean at the end of her pregnancy.

"So you're leaving for good this time," Jean announced. The smoke from her illicit cigarette curled upwards through the air, drifting out the nearby window. "Hanging it up. Packing it all in."

"Hey, don't get all weepy about it," Llewyn said. "I'm not going out with a bang, Jean."

"I _hope_ not." Jean's eyebrows arched high, but Llewyn ignored the comment.

"I'm just saying. This isn't like, some grand farewell or anything. It's just…"

He stopped, the words sticking in his throat. _"Moving on to bigger and better things"-_ that was how Lillian had put it, when he went to say goodbye to the Gorfeins. Llewyn had mustered enough politeness not to shoot down the notion. He couldn't bring himself to confess in their company- or anyone else's, really- the deep-rooted insecurity that had plagued him ever since hearing that young, nasal voice wafting through the Gaslight, right before he'd had the shit kicked out of him in the cold back alley. Or had that voice only magnified existing dissatisfaction, rather than planted the seeds? It was impossible to meet Lillian's sincere, well-meaning eyes and tell her that "bigger and better things" were not for him anymore. A new generation had seized the future, leaving Llewyn to stagger behind in an eternal game of catch-up.

"You remember that first show you and Mike did together?" Jean said, apropos of nothing.

Llewyn laughed dryly. "Can't forget the first time you graced me with your presence."

Jean shot Llewyn a warning glance, reminding Llewyn that he wasn't off the hook quite yet. "Two scrawny little kids up there, and you were scared shitless, but you didn't sound like it. When you did 'Fare Thee Well' for the first time-"

"'Dink's Song,'" Llewyn interrupted. "'Fare Thee Well' is a different one. The one we did is called 'Dink's Song.'"

"Whatever," Jean said. "After you did that, and killed it, you know what I said to Jim?"

"What?"

"I said, 'Shit. We've got competition.'" Jean laughed communally, clearly entreating Llewyn to join in, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"C'mon. Stop fucking with me."

"All right, fine," Jean sighed. "So I didn't tell Jim. But I _thought_ it, for sure. I thought the two of you were destined to rule the world."

The image of himself and Mike as mighty conquerors of the folk scene, presiding over Greenwich Village from their shared palace, was too grandiose and absurd to give much thought. Llewyn looked away, wishing to snatch Jean's cigarette out of her hand, if only to take a drag from it himself.

"I fucked up that song twice that night," he muttered. "The harmonies were all off-"

"But at least you went out there and did it!" Jean exploded. "You did it again, and again, every chance they gave you, until you got it right! That's what I mean, Llewyn. You can't just… give up now when you haven't even gotten very far. You're not meeting your _potential."_

Llewyn sighed heavily, scratching the side of his face. For someone who so regularly insisted that he was an irredeemable piece of shit, Jean sure liked to tamper in the name of self-improvement.

"I… I'm sorry, Jean. Truth is, I don't really know what I want, but I know it's not this." Such a simple admission, and yet to verbalize it felt like laying his soul bare. "I don't have what it takes as a solo act, and everyone else is already doin' their thing. And Mike's dead, so…"

He shrugged, attempting to cover up the pain that had flared in him, as if he'd been punched right between his lungs. It was an old pain, as familiar as the melodies he'd sung dozens of times, and for a moment irritation surged within him. _What the fuck._ It had been a year, a whole fucking year, and this pain was _still_ with him? It hadn't taken this long to get over his mother's death. For once, couldn't he think about the past without remembering, or remember without having to relive the grief?

It wasn't that he wanted to move on, exactly. Because moving on implied letting go, the past fading behind him like the reflection in a rearview mirror. Forgetting was no better than denial. Was it too much to ask to recall every detail of the past, without the memories crippling him? Was it possible to suspend a moment in time, while moving forward all the same?

If there was anyone who understood, it had to be Jean. They'd been closer back then, the three of them- well, four, if Jim was to be counted. But Llewyn's irritation only strengthened when sympathy softened Jean's features.

"I know what you mean," she said, matter-of-factly. "It's hard to find-"

"No," Llewyn protested. "You don't know a fuckin' thing, Jean! You had it made the moment you met Jim! Find a guy with a voice like that and go marry him, and you've got a winning combination! Don't tell me _you_ know what it's like to be rejected 'cause they wanna see you with someone who's not around anymore. Everyone already wanted to book Jim. He just happened to pick you up along the way."

Llewyn expected these words to unleash the explosives, but Jean only fixed him with a cold stare.

"I know more than you think, _asshole_."

And slowly it dawned on Llewyn that Jean was right. Even with Jim's vocals and emotional support to boost her, Jean had still come crawling to Pappi to beg for Llewyn's gig. If she'd done that just for him, Llewyn couldn't imagine what she'd put herself through for a gig of her own

"Me and Jim _try,"_ Jean had said once, the week before Llewyn's world ended. "You sleep on the _couch."_

But it wasn't as simple as that, because Llewyn _had_ tried. Just not to the same extent as Jean, or even in the same way. And who had ended up profiting? Was either one truly the winner?

After being constantly subjected to them, Jean's barbed complaints had long since lost their impact. However, Llewyn felt now more than ever that he lived up to her colorful epithets. He figured he should apologize, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it. So they sat in tense silence, until finally Llewyn cleared his throat.

"Anyway, I came over 'cause I wanted to leave this with you." Llewyn reached down and tapped the guitar case beside him. Jean's forehead creased.

"You're leaving behind your guitar?"

"Yeah," Llewyn said. "I thought maybe Jim could use it, or… or you could take it up if you're into that. I won't need it where I'm going."

Jean's eyes flickered from the guitar to Llewyn's face. One eyebrow rose. "I wasn't aware you had a destination in mind."

"Yeah, well." Llewyn blew out a deep breath. "I can't bum around forever. Life's gotta put me down somewhere." _God, it better_.

Jean's eyes were soft, but not in the cloyingly sympathetic way Llewyn despised. She raised her cigarette in the air, almost like an offering. "Here's hoping you land on your feet."

With that, she stood up, and Llewyn did too. He stepped forward as Jean stubbed out her cigarette, taking her hands. They were soft and warm, just like how he remembered the rest of her. Funny how such smooth skin could conceal a soul so sandpaper-rough.

"Thank you, Jean," Llewyn breathed. "I can't say you've always been good to me, 'cause that's bullshit, but you… well… at least you never turned me away."

"Don't get any ideas," Jean said. "It was Jim who let you stay half the time." However, her words held no animosity. _That's gotta be a first._ She darted in to peck Llewyn on the cheek, and he broke away, surprised.

"Safe travels."

Llewyn nodded. "Au revoir."

"What?"

" _Until we meet again_."

Jean rolled her eyes, but Llewyn thought he saw the trace of a smile.

"Get out of town."

"That's the idea."


End file.
